With the Gift of Foresight
by AnnaEndedTheWorld
Summary: BreiusAchilles. A chance to make things right.
1. Default Chapter

_The ancient Greeks believed that after death, you ventured into Hades, the underworld. There you would remain, unless by some stroke of luck or heroism you managed to finagle yourself god status. If so, you'd bypass the boatman and spend the rest of your days (AKA: eternity) on Mount Olympus. _

_But there were some ancient peoples, east of the Aegean, who felt differently. For them, the actions of one life set the stage for the next. Ideally, each new life would give your soul insight, so you would make better decisions next time. Members of your past lives would reappear in your present, giving you a chance to make right with them. Karma, it was called._

_Maybe, if we had known that the afterlife was neither ours not theirs, but a mix of both, we would have behaved differently. Repeating the same mistakes, time and time again, got pretty tiresome. But the evil (or silly errors) that men do lives past them. The war we lived in, the giants we walked with, will never be forgotten, even though I was. _

_But G-d, or the gods (for what difference does it make, one or many? We all were -- and still are -- desperately searching for some greater being to give substance and truth to the befuddlement of our lives) had decided to give me another chance. A chance for my name to be known. _

_The world has changed. War no longer has glory, or personality. There are no giants of war, only barbarians. No one charges in on horseback, or flings arrows. Only buttons are pressed to release bombs to destroy the earth. My people would have despaired to see war brought down. To me, it is all the same. Killing is killing, by sword or by bomb, but for many, war became too eas, to be inhumane to man. Then, men understood that it was human beings they were killing. They saw their faces. Now, they are able to shoot blind. Thousands upon thousands are killed, and yet people shrug. "What could I have done? What role did I have?"_

_This time, my role was cast like die before I was born._

_I did not know it then. I do now. _

_This is my karma. And this is my story._


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: I quickly want to apologize to all Canadians, or Canadia lovers. I have nothing against Canada, I love it, but when dreaming up this story, I couldn't think of any other country the US right now is least likely to go to war with, so that I didn't start any vicious rumors. I also realize that the idea of invading Canada is just really funny, and you may not be able to take my story seriously. If this becomes a problem, first of all, pooh on you, and secondly, I'll redo it and make it WWII or the Cold War or something. I was considering using an actual historic war, but then I would have had to do annoying research, or worked around my biases about those wars ( I couldn't make Achilles a Nazi, I just couldn't.)  
  
Also, I don't personally believe in reincarnation and I realize it's a really corny idea, but after seeing the movie I couldn't let Breius and Achilles not get their great love story without him dying, and I also couldn't have him stay alive back in Troy.

And, now that I've rambled on forever and ever, here is the first chapter.

Chapter One:

_Galileo's head was on the block  
The crime was looking up the truth  
And as the bombshells of my daily fears explode  
I try to trace them to my youth _

_And then you had to bring up reincarnation  
Over a couple of beers the other night  
And now I'm serving time for mistakes  
Made by another in another lifetime  
  
How long till my soul gets it right  
Can any human being ever reach that kind of light  
I call on the resting soul of Galileo  
King of night vision, king of insight  
  
And then I think about my fear of motion  
Which I never could explain  
Some other fool across the ocean years ago  
Must have crashed his little airplane  
  
How long till my soul gets it right  
Can any human being ever reach that kind of light  
I call on the resting soul of Galileo  
King of night vision, king of insight  
  
I'm not making a joke, you know me  
I take everything so seriously  
If we wait for the time till all souls get it right  
Then at least I know there'll be no nuclear annihilation  
In my lifetime I'm still not right  
  
I offer thanks to those before me  
That's all I've got to say  
'cause maybe you squandered big bucks in your lifetime  
Now I have to pay  
But then again it feels like some sort of inspiration  
To let the next life off the hook  
But she'll say look what I had to overcome from my last life  
I think I'll write a book  
  
How long till my soul gets it right  
Can any human being ever reach the highest light  
Except for the resting soul, of Galileo  
King of night vision, king of insight  
- Indigo Girls, Galileo_

"Get the hell up, General."

General Alec Camero, leader of the Navy Seals, rolled over onto his back, snoring louder as his only response.

"Get the hell up!"

"Tell the President that whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow, jacka$$!" The lieutenant, Patrick Anderson, realizing his impudence, lowered his head. "Sir."

"So then tell him the day after that."

"There is a cabinet meeting... half an hour ago. You're supposed to be there, especially if you want him to appoint you as Secretary of Defense after he's re-elected."

"You, my friend and fellow jacka$$, are the only one pushing the Secretary of Defense thing so that you can have friends in high places." The General stretched and climbed off his bed, not minding the fact that he was naked. The lieutenant averted his eyes, turning red. "You look like a tomato," Alec observed, puling on his uniform. "Ok, let's go kiss some Presidential a$$."

"Yes, sir."

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"And point and flex and point and close, to the side, to the back, port a bra, finish. Brianna, point those toes!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears away. Now would be a good time for selective hearing, I thought wistfully. It would cut out the snickers coming from all corners of the room, at least. Why did these girls make me feel like such a heinous elephant, with frizzy hair and big boobs?

"Brianna, concentrate! Just because you have ADD doesn't give you the right to doze off in class. Or did it think it was because your the Prime Minister's daughter that you didn't have to stoop down to our level and actually exert some grace?" I was about to respond, cheeks flaming, when my cell phone rang. More giggles. Back stiff, I inched over to my bag and snatched the phone from it. Giving Madame a quick, apologetic look, I ran out of the room. Ignoring the security guard stationed outside in the hall, I prepared to blast my eldest brother.

"A$$. Why are you calling me? You know I have class."

"Style, too."

"Good one. How is she?" She was his wife, Adrienne, whom I had left that morning in labor with their second child.

"Great! We had our baby -- a boy! Nathan."

- A gift from G-d - mused a voice in my head. I froze, and the phone clattered to the floor. I watched as pieces bounced around the room. On my knees, I scooted around to catch my SIM card, and a memory I had never had shook me.

_The urn slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. The high priest looked at her with scorn. _

_"That urn was years old, Breius. If it wasn't for the fact that you are the King's niece, I wouldn't have sent you off to Athena's temple months ago."_

_She stooped, spreading her skirt as she bent to gather the pieces. The marble floor of the temple froze her knees. She began to rise, but fell again in shock as the priest cried out. Men shouted outside, and she could hear the tear of metal on metal as swords clashed. Some screamed. A numb, sticky feeling pushed their way into her palms; she had fallen on the broken pieces of the urn. _

_"Hide, Breius! Don't make a sound. The Greeks are already here, oh, sovereign Apollo, god of the Sun, protect us..."_

What the hell?! Apollo? Athena? Was I on something, or having a flashback from those few times I had gotten high in high school?

Must be, I decided, but I couldn't shake the prickly feeling from my palms. Clean, I assured myself, after inspecting them. No cuts. No blood. No broken glass. I stood, reassembled my phone, clicked it on and called back my brother.

"Henry, sorry about that. My phone broke. Nathan, you say? I'm psyched to be an aunt. How's Adrienne?"

"She's great. Pierce just flew in from the States, and he brought a girl with him."

"Blonde, I'm assuming." I grinned at my middle brother's romantic habits, pulling a strand of my own brown hair out of my bun and studying it.

"_What's your name?" She didn't answer, looking away from the man that asked. He washed blood off his hands and face. Blood, she assumed, of the high priest, or her teacher, or even one of her cousins. Her wrists ached, tied as they were behind the pole of the makeshift tent._

_"Even priestesses of Apollo have names," he said, stripping off his armor. She looked away, feeling her cheeks flame. The most she had ever seen of a man was the bronze statue of Apollo (the one, she remembered with rage and helplessness, had been ransacked by the Greeks, likely by this man.) She could not believe the truth: this warrior, this killer of hundreds, sacker of cities, was more beautiful than any monument she had seen of any god. He laughed at her response, tying a wrap around his legs and walking over to her. He lifted a piece of her dark hair, and sniffed._

_"You must be royalty. Tell me your name," he demanded, not relinquishing her hair._

_"Breius. I'm only a servant." Better that he think her expendable; the gods only knew what the Greeks would do if they had a princess in their hands._

_Leaning behind her, he brouth his hand over her tied wrists. She could smell the scent washing over him: blood, and the Aegean, and something else she had never smelled on the priests or her father when he weas alive. _

_Pulling out a knife, she froze in terror, then calmed somewhat as he sliced through the bind on her wrists. "Are you afraid of me?"_

_She forced herself to look at him. His eyes were blue like the sky of Apollo's chariot. They held none of the blank, killing rage she had expected, just an intensity that forced her to be honest. "Should I be?"_

_"You have nothing to fear from me," he said, rising and turning away from her. "Your the only Trojan that can claim that." With that, he strolled out of the tent, leaving her in the dark._

"Bri? Bri? Are you there?" Henry, sounding frightened, called me back to where I was. What the hell was wrong with me today?

Who was Breius, and why was she messing around in my head? And why was I being turned on by a hallucination? Was my subconcious telling me to finally find a guy, have sex, and use a Trojan? Did I have my own personal marketing service?

"Sorry, zoned out. I'll come to the hospital as soon as I get out of class."

"Don't worry about it. Adrienne was saying yesterday about how amazing your commitment level is. Even though we want you to find someone, we understand that in alot of ways, you're married to your dance. See you tonight."

He clicked off, and I walked back into class. Madame greeted me while the other girls practiced pirouettes across the floor.

"Have a fun chat?"

"My brother's wife just had a baby," I replied, knowing it was futile. Madame had had it in for me since the first day, when I was forced to bring a body guard.

"That's marvelous! We should all take class off and celebrate!" She glared at me, hand on a nonexistent hip. "Next time, leave your phone off."


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Hahaha, war with Canada. Sorry, got distracted for a second. Sorry it's taking so long to get to the Achilles/Breius stuff. I'm just building the story, and trying to make it not just a future version of Troy.

Please, please, please review.

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Chapter 2:

_A place in thy memory, dearest,  
Is all that I claim;  
To pause and look back when thou hearest  
The sound of my name._

_-_ Gerald Griffin_, A Place in thy memory_

__

"You. Are. Insane." There is no way we can attack Canada. Are you kidding? No one has been able to beat them since the French took over in the 1600s!"  
  
"We have no choice. They are harboring a traitor to our country. If we don't, we will become the laughingstock of the world."

"We're going to war over our reputation?! Over some woman? What did she do, give away Martha Stewart's cooking secrets?"

The Vice President interrupted. "She gave up top secret information about new military equipment, and then just left!" Alec looked at him warily. --The fact that she's your wife likely has something to do with it -- he thought.

"Alec." Oren Cohen, Secretary of State and Alec's closest friend, attempted temptation. Reason didn't work with the General, he knew. "Our country will defend itself. Today it will be one woman, and important military secrets. Tomorrow it will be communism all over again. Besides, your name will go down in history books as the man who defeated the Canadians."

Alec sighed. If Oren was pushing for it, he would too. And he was right, Alec wanted the chance for a true legacy. He felt the stirrings of battle within him.

"Alright. Go, declare your war."

With that finished, he pulled himself out of his chair and walked out, Patrick following him.

"Where is he off to now?" The President exploded.

"Likely to visit his mother." Oren grinned and shook his head.

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Like usual, the house smelled like oatmeal raisin cookies.

"Hey Mom." He stooped to kiss her.

"Hi darling." She handed him a cookie then bustled around the kitchen.

"So, off to Canada now?"

Alec shifted uncomfortably. His mother always had had a way of knowing things she shouldn't know. She called it her hunches, and he left it at that, relieved not to have to question anything.

"It seems that way."

"It will be right this time." She smiled to herself, putting another baking sheet in the oven. "This time, you will come home."

"Mom, you know I hate when you do that."

"Oh, it's just an old mother's ways. She's waiting," she murmured, so that Alec thought he had only imagined it.

"Who is waiting? Who is waiting, Mother?"

"Oh, did I say someone was waiting? Silly me, I've been watching too much of that boob tube again, haven't I." She laughed, fluttering, and popped another cookie in his mouth. "Your lucky I'm not like other mothers, letting you have dessert first."

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"Bri, this is Ellen. Ellen, this is my little sister." Pierce stepped forward, bringing with him a stunning blonde.

Once again, time slowed down for Brianna.

_"Breius!"_

_"Hello, cousin." They kissed cheeks._

_"Why, you seem to be more beautiful each time I see you."_

_The King interjected, smiling like the doting uncle he was. "She upset many young men when she took her vows as a bride of Apollo." Breius blushed._

_Her cousin stepped aside, revealing a stunning woman. Breius's eyes widened in amazement, and at the same time, her heart plummeted with anguish at the doom her city was now to face. _

_"Breius, this is --"_

"Bri? Bri?! What the hell is the matter with you today?" Bri realized she was staring off into space.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what's going on. Maybe I'm sick," she apologized. "I have to say, my brother has good taste. You're stunning."

"Oh, thank you." Ellen colored slightly.

--American?-- Brianna wondered. Her face was familiar. Was she an actress, or...

Suddenly, she knew. Ellen Hunting, the wife of the American Vice President. The one who had given father those military secrets...

-- And life gets a hell of a lot more interesting. -- Brianna mused.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, I'm going to apologize for my constant misspelling of Briseis. See? All good now. I also want to apologize to Lina, and explain myself. The concept of reincarnation isn't annoying. In fact, I find it a very cool idea and wish I knew more about it. The annoying part I was referring to was the constant incorporation of reincarnation into trashy romance novels and even trashier fan fiction (which I'm hoping mine will not be.) I also have a quick bone to pick with one of my reviewees (yes, immature I know, I could take the stiff upper lip, or turn the other cheek, or whatever, but I'm not that much of a mensch): I realize that an army officer wouldn't ever speak to their overseeing officer in the way I've portrayed Achilles/Alec of doing; however, I like to think I'm using my artistic license, just as I like to think Homer did when he wrote the Iliad: instead of being court marshaled, soldiers would probably get their heads chopped off for arguing with a king. Also, it's a possibility that Alec gets away with so much because, like in the movie, the government realizes he's indispensable. Just a thought. And if my chapters are short, well, I for one try not to care about "looking bad", but if it really is bothering you, I'll try to lengthen them. Otherwise, thanks for the advice, I tried to access that website but it didn't work, and I'll try to find out the proper rankings of army or Navy officials.  
**  
**Anyway... thanks to all my reviewers! And to Picture Girl, for agreeing to beta this story for me, and in doing so, hopefully make it better. (Ha, ha ha, ha ha ha... sighs tragically at her lack of humerosity.) En garde! Here cometh the next chaptereth!**  
  
"Want of foresight, unwillingness to act when action would be simple and effective, lack of clear thinking, confusion of counsel until the emergency comes, until self-preservation strikes its jarring gong—these are the features which constitute the endless repetition of history." - Winston Churchill  
  
I had expected dreams that night. Terrible, confusing dreams. Hot, sexy dreams. Dreams that I both dreaded, and strangely, craved. Since I had been daydreaming all day, why not at night? But no one visited me at night. No Trojan Man, no Trojan men, no men at all. My sleep was as bare as the white Egyptian cotton sheets I slept on. But not nearly as silky. I couldn't remember having a single dream. But then why did I keep waking up at random times: 2 am, 4 am, 5 am, disoriented as to where I was, and who I was?  
  
Which was likely why I was so exhausted during Pointe. Monsieur Bergman ignored me, as per usual. I tried not to let his quick dismissal of me cut, but it always did. My insecurities usually grew around men. It was strange, because with two brothers, it would seem I would be comfortable around men, but in fact, they were the only two I felt I could be myself with. With Henry and Pierce, I was fun, open, funny, beautiful, and let myself be vulnerable. Strangely, that comfort level had never transferred to any situations with men. Pierce would tease me by pointing out the convenience of being in a career with so few men. The ballet, for some, can be another kind of nunnery. For me, it was an excuse to hide from vulnerability.  
  
I quickly flashbacked to the weird non-memories I had been having.  
  
She upset many young men when she took her vows as a bride of Apollo.  
  
No, no. No more of that. Inhaling, I rose as far as I could on the vamps of my toe shoes. Copying the other girls in the class, I raised my left leg back in an arabesque, extending my arms forward. Air pulsed below me.  
  
Off in the distance, beyond the Canadian Institute of Ballet in the streets of Ottawa, a siren sounded. Fear rose in flurries through me. I recalled the woman I had met the night before, the talk shows my brothers, Ellen, and I had watched, tense with the dread of an oncoming war with the United States, while Adrienne was upstairs, resting, and my father was at an important meeting with his cabinet members.  
  
Anger began to ascend in my mind, and then dwindled. I could pretend to be angry at Pierce for taking Ellen with him and putting my country in danger, but I was a sucker for a love story. If he loved her, well, that was enough to get my pathetic, romantic heart flailing.  
  
Monsieur finally took a notice of me, when my bodyguard rushed in. I glanced around at the other dancers who watched me with scorn. They all could stand on their own two feet. They did not need a large, hulking man in a black uniform keeping them out of harms way. For a moment, I wished I were as brave as them.  
  
That moment of envy cost half the dancers in the room their lives. And almost cost me mine, if my bodyguard hadn't physically picked me up and ran out of the building.  
  
I can't describe what actually happened. My mind, likely smarter than I am, turned off my conscious thoughts so that I didn't go insane with the memory of seeing my home destroyed. I'm lucky. I blacked out from the intense sound as the bomb hit that swallowed my home. When I came to, Ottawa lay in shambles. – Not an atomic bomb – I thought, immediately, frozen with shock. The city had not disappeared. And then a sick, half guilty half relieved feeling grew like nausea low in my stomach. I had survived, but so many had not. And my city...  
  
Most of Ottawa was burning. Buildings looked as though they had been sawed in half, with their metal skeletons showing. Dust rose from the crumbled stone and cement on the streets. It was eerily silent and gray. The Dust Bowl has come to Canada, I mused for a moment, and then looked down to see I was trapped beneath my bodyguard's body. Cold body. A guilty mix of relief and fear sloshed around in me. Someone else had decided that their life was expendable in regards to mine. He lay dead on top of me, crushing me with his weight, yet he seemed at once minute and twiggish. Once an oaf, now a helpless dead... ...thing. Fear overrode the relief that I was alive, choking me. I was caught beneath a dead man. I could soon die too. I watched, helpless beneath the crush of the dead body, as Canadians silently shuffled on the street, attempting to pull people out of the rubbish.  
  
No one could believe it had happened. The walls of the city had come pounding down, and our defeat and despair had crushed the color out of the place. My once blue skies and red and white flag were now gray and brown, the dust from the explosion hovering around me like a blanket waiting to suffocate me. Yes, red remained, but it was a rotted red, old and drying, and now brown-tinged.  
  
I tried to push my way out under the dead body of my one-time guard. No luck. Dancers are strong, but we aren't Xena. I had no special powers to speak of, except the luck to have been the daughter of the Prime Minister. From that, a whole other crowd of fears harassed me. Where was my family? Had they survived? Distantly, I watched my own reaction, astounded by my clarity and calm. Where had this strong, no nonsense girl come from? The Brianna I knew -- and, if not loved, then accepted – would be bawling, running around in circles, inept and unable to function. But this other Brianna was strong. Later would be a time for breaking down, she told me. Now was a time for a clear head.  
  
Finally, color and sound appeared in my capital's carcass. Green. Army green and roaring, in the form of a helicopter.. – How had a helicopter come so quickly? – Lord knew that my father was both too peace loving and too secure to believe that anyone would ever dare to attack Canada. It would take hours for our defense to get into action and send aid into Ottawa.  
  
It meant only one thing. Americans. 


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in so long. It was finals week, and then those joyous few weeks of the first part of the summer, when the last thing I wanted to do was write. To give you guys a few days notice, I'm going to be gone for most of the summer. I leave for Poland in about a week. After that, I'll be spending five weeks in Israel with my youth group. Because of this, this story will unfortunately remain unfinished for a while. However, I'm going to attempt to slave on it for the next few days, and give you a quick ending. There are pros and cons: Pros being that A) you won't be waiting eagerly for my return and the end of this story, B) that by the time I get back, this story won't have been forgotten, and C) when I'm back, I can move on to bigger and better things, and cons being that a rushed story is never as good as one given more time. So, basically, it's up to you. Vote for me to finish it now, or wait and finish it when I get home six weeks from now.

To my loyal reviewees... first off, there should be more of you (ok, so a little cocky, but everyone needs more rah rah sis coom bah). Secondly, thank you to all who reviewed, and those of you who didn't... pooh on you. Quickly, to NightBirdSongBird... first of all, thank you for reading my story and complimenting me, even though I'm sure you wanted to hate it, given your purism. Actually, I do know all of the fun Homer facts that Wolfgang Peterson chose to ignore when he made his blockbuster... wasn't Briseis some Greek King's wife that Achilles' killed off? And yeah, Patroclus wasn't his cousin I know. They were intimate, although so were Achilles and Brisies. But then again, it is Hollywood. And since I am writing this as Troy fan fiction, I'm sticking to the Hollywood version. (PS: the best Hollywoodized --- well, worst, to some – story would likely be Breakfast at Tiffany's. You should read the novella, and then see the movie. Amazing movie, my favorite, but entirely different from the book... especially because Holly Golightly is supposed to be how Truman Capote saw himself in a woman's form. Anyway, onto the story.

* * *

_"Every passing moment is another chance to turn everything around."_ – Vanilla Sky

The propeller blades sliced through the air, boom- swish, boom-swish, boom- swish. It was purely habituation that allowed Alec to think over the noise. Pulling off his helmet as he jumped down from the helicopter (an immature, machismo act, but boys will be boys), Alec surveyed the scene in front of him.

"Remind me again why we bombed this city?" he asked Oren.

"Because the Vice President wants his btch back." Oren smacked Alec's shoulder. "Don't trouble yourself over it. Let's just get this war over with quickly. If it's not already done." With that, he walked off, barking orders to the other lowering helicopters.

"She better be one damn sexy btch." Ottawa lay in heaps. It paralleled Paris, London, and most of Western Europe at the end of WWII. A large period house, just to the left of Alec, looked bitten into, the pillars on the porch crumpled inward. Alec stared at it. His head...

"_Achilles, this is a temple of Apollo. It may not be wise to anger him." He surveyed the temple. It was beautiful of course, but the same as any other temple, large sweeping steps, crumbling granite, and a large, reverential golden statue of an ireverential character. – Apollo – he scoffed to himself. – Imaginary super humans should only be useful in children's bedtime stories.—Clenching his sword, he lobbed off the golden head and stared up at the sky, daring any higher being to take vengeance on his act._

--What the fck? —Alec wondered. The house was only a house again; that is, if you could call a broken old colonial with ugly columns a house. Where did that come from? Was he finally snapping? Pushing the hallucination to the back of his head – he could question his sanity later – he strode forward. Were there any survivors here?

* * *

I could not move. I could barely breathe. I could only watch as two men came out of the helicopter – one, jumping down arrogantly (or as far as I could tell, craning my neck and squinting my eyes to make out their figures in the gray distance), another stepping down. The stepper walked off, likely to assist the entering helicopters. I stared transfixed at the first man, the arrogant, insecure hopper. In all of the gray haze, caused by the rubble of my city, he appeared... golden. The kind of golden that even hours spent in the sun, and lots of money spent on bronzer could never cause. The light exploded around him. Then again, my oxygen supply was being cut off, I reasoned. I was likely hallucinating.

I should be fighting. How long was it going to take for the adrenaline to kick in? Mothers got enough to pry cars off of their children, how could I not get a few lousy surges, so that I could crawl my way under my dead body guard, and search for my family? If they were even ... no. Act now, think later. The shock of my situation was beginning to wear off. I needed to get out of here, before I was crushed alive, ironically by the man (no, thing now, thing... what was on top of me was not a man, but an it) whose sole purpose was to keep me safe. Unfortunately, my adrenaline glands, or whatever they were called, had decided to go on holiday. Likely to my brain, which was why I was seeing golden men walk around in full on halo-like body armor.

Now, I could leave myself stuck here, until I died or someone found me, or I could push my way out. – Take charge of your own life for once, Brianna. -- I coached myself. – Now would be a good time to show some actual spunk, instead of just thinking it. Sucking all my breath in, I clenched my muscles tight and PUSHED. I got the weight of the, that, thing up off of me for about half a second, and maybe half an inch high. If that. – Try again. – My inner thoughts coached me. So I did. After the twelfth try, I did what I should have done... strategized. Pulling a jagged rock out from under my shoulder, wet and sticky now, I pried it between myself and the body. Using the stone as leverage, I wiggled my way out from underneath his body. As I crawled away, I wanted to close my eyes, lay back down, or run away. Instead, I forced myself to look at each body, touching it, searching for a pulse, a sign of life. They lay on top of each other, some with minimal scars, many with faces half ripped off. They were all still warm. But none that I found were alive. As I worked my way through the sea of bodies, I would occasionally glance up to see if any Americans saw if I was alive. I wasn't dumb. I knew I was a commodity to them, a bartering chip. I had to get to my family first.  
  
I couldn't say how I did it. Maybe the adrenaline finally found its way around my blood stream. All I know is that I found myself at what had once been City Hall. The three columns still stood, but the rest was crushed. The Americans were not far off, I knew, but as I crouched behind the building, I felt daring. They hadn't seen me yet, they wouldn't. Except if it was someone as dumb and clutzy as me, who, while leaning against a destroyed, old building, started a minor avalanche of rocks. Quickly, three green Yankee soldiers ran up, guns held high.

"Keep your hands where we can see them! Come out, and we will grant you the full rights of an enemy prisoner." By this point, I had no choice. I stepped out from behind the side of the building. At this point, my knees finally decided they had had it, and gave it, so I fell forward.

_ "Did you hear that?" She tensed, crouched behind a pillar. "Probably just a mouse. Come on, we already killed the priests. Let's take the loot and leave." She swallowed, closing her eyes. Would Apollo grant her this small pardon for whatever transgression she had paused? Would these barbarians leave this place? "What do we have here, eh?" She looked up to see two men, dressed in armor and blood – the innocent blood of holy men, no doubt – grinning at her. "Such a pretty mouse." The one who had spoken reached down, and took a piece of her hair in his hand. Sniffed. She forced herself not to whimper. Woman or not, she would not give the satisfaction to these... barbarians was not a dark enough word._

"What do we have here, ay?" One of the three laughed, mocking the easy Canadian cadence. Brianna shook off the urge to laugh and spit at him. Most Ottawans never said ay. It was much more of an Ontario type addition to a word.

"Come on. Get up." This was barked by the second one. – G-d,-- she thought to herself, swallowing as she stood. – They were all so young. What mother, in this day and age of peace and prosperity, would let her son be a part of the savage customs of war? -- For a second, she closed her eyes, imagining all of her weird hallucinations. – The same type of mothers who would allow barbarians to raid a Temple of Apollo in Briseis's time, whoever she was. –


	6. Chapter 5

So here I am, finally updating. Happy, now?

Umm, I definitely need a new beta. Any takers?

_-J_

* * *

_I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems  
got to open my eyes to everything - Evanescence_

This was not my city.

Women sat, huddled against doorframes -- the only part left standing of once grand houses -- cradling screaming children.

Men and boys stood together, searching for signs of life, too cowed to look the Canadian soldiers in the eye.

A young man, searching frantically through the rubble, collapsed in his greif upon finding a dead body. His wife? His mother? His son?

A toddler sat, not crying, not anything -- just staring into the distance.

She was missing a leg, and the blood ran. She wouldn't live long. Most of them, would not, if no hospital system was set up.

So it goes.

We walked through the ruins, me and my envoy of soldiers. They had, at first, walked me with a gun pointed at my back, but when they realized I wouldn't run, they removed it. They were obviously confused by my lack of struggle -- was I so different from their own, American women? Would an American woman scream, throw things? Try to escape?

Why didn't I?

I glanced over to the man on my right. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the blood, the death and the dying. But he kept swallowing. I realized he couldn't be more than 18 -- _war had been fought by boys since my own time, a voice like my own,_ but a bit richer and huskier, mused.

Because, of course, these strange hallucinations would occur at the destruction of my home. I prayed for them to take me over; her world, at this moment, seemed better than mine.

As a response, I tripped over a body. The soldier to my left caught me, dragged me up and forward. Glancing back for a moment, I saw monsieur. It was emptily ironic that, after imagining the ways I could kill him after so many years in his classes, he was now dead.

I wasn't happy, but, to be honest, a small, petty part of me was not sad either. Ashamed, but not sad.

We plodded on.

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"Hey, Alec -- there are some hot girls here. You should check them out with me." One of the younger soldiers, about nineteen, swaggered in to the headquarters the group had set up in a building that was still standing. Alec wouldn't even look over at him.

Patrick glared. "What, one of the ones that isn't dead?" The boy and his friends moved off, eyes lowered.

Alec sighed, put a hand on Patrick's shoulder. "They're young. So are you. They don't know any better -- and if this is the way they can deal with death, than let them."

_"I'm not so young, Achilles," Patroclus protested. They stood on the boat, surveying the sand that lay in front of them, miles off. Troy._

_"I can fight, just as the rest can."_

_"No, you will stay and guard the ships. I will not have your death on my hands, and watching you will hinder me." With that, he strode off to prepare for battle._

"Alec, are you alright?" Oren stood there, bemused by Alec's distant expression.

What the hell is going on?!

"I'm fine, I swear." He turned to Patrick. "I'm going to go wash up before the Big Kahuna pulls his meeting together. Personally, I can't believe he even came this far -- it's not like he is actually going to fight." With that, he strode off, leaving Patrick and Oren staring at him.

"Maybe he just hasn't slept in a while," Oren offered. "Come on, let's find a place for us to sleep for the time being. And I want cell phone reception -- I need to call my wife."

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I sat in the dark, shivering, trying to ignore the fact that all I had on was a leotard and leg warmers. There was light farther off; I heard arguing.

_"Let's see what Achilles thinks of you, girl." She tucked her neck into her chest. She would not let these barbarians see her tears. "Though I haven't ever really known him to like virgins -- he has more experienced women, because he has more exotic taste in his sexual practices." Leering at her, he left the tent. _

_It was dark again, but she could not take solace in that. She did not have long before he would come. Achilles -- she knew stories of him. He would eat her alive... maybe literally._

_Apollo, please give me strength, she prayed. Please... _

The door swung open, the lighting shocking my eyes blind, so all I could see was blur. And gold. That golden man from earlier, the gold of Achilles's tawny skin.... what?!

He seemed to have the same reaction, staring at her in shock. His shirt was half way off; his pants were half way unbuttoned.

"Who are you?" Waves pounded rhythms in Alec's head. She looked familiar, why did she look familiar...

"No one." Surprised, my voice sounded defiant, not anxious. He would not know that I was the Premiers daughter. I tilted my head up to look at him, trying to block out the name that echoed again and again. Achilles, Achilles, Achilles...

I knew who Achilles was. Actually, I remembered who Breisis was -- we read the Illiad in high school. But why was I having strange memories of them?

Alec laughed, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating. He stared at her... dark curls, caked in dust, flew around her head in frizz, half was tied to her head in a way that made her look like a dancer. Dark eyes, pale skin...

Why do I know her face? He asked himself. Why do I know her face?

Forcing himself to respond, he turned towards the door. "You can't be no one. At least, not if I can see you. Unless you're a figment of my imagination. Are you?" He pulled off his shirt the whole way, enjoying the way he felt her stare intensify. Maybe she was an actress? Either way, he could ignore the strange thoughts he had been having for, better, hotter ones. After all, why not? In a way, he was on vacation.

He was much too muscular, much too beautiful, to be human.

_"Even preistesses of Apollo have names."_

I swallowed. "Maybe you're a figment of mine," I shot back.

He turned to me, amused. Then his eyes narrowed, noticing the handcuffs locking me to the bunk bed. Striding over, he searched for the key, then unlocked them. I couldn't help but recoil from him -- he smelled like sweaty pheromones. He was much, much too close.

_She pulled back as he cut her ties. His annoyance with her intensified. Pulling up a strand of her hair, he smelled it. Clean perfume, and fear. Royalty._

"There's no reason for you to be afraid of me." Alec ignored the shakiness that had intensified by the lost, heated look in her eyes. "I wouldn't hurt you, even if I could -- this isn't the second century, you know -- we don't rape and pillage anymore."

With that, he walked over to a duffel lying on the floor, pulled out a white shirt, and left the room, closing the door behind him. I stared at the complete darkness, rubbing my wrists where he had come close to touching them.

Now was the time to break down, to cry. I had been given time to think about what had happened to my family, to my home. I swallowed self-hatred down, thinking of the way his muscles moved. Ashamed with myself. Where was my grief?

Where was my fear?

Then, the door opened again.

* * *

So, I finally updated, after months of troy-related writer's block. I apologize if it's not up to par with my other chapters.

review, review, review... did i mention review?


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